


Journey to the West

by BurningMartian



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Cannibalism, Multi, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 14:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14854889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningMartian/pseuds/BurningMartian
Summary: The Hero of Fereldan journeys to parts unknown in a quest to conquer the Blight. But the Grey Wardens do not know enough about the poison within them or what lies beyond humanity's charted territory. And what they don't know about could be very dangerous indeed.





	1. Chapter 1

The woods of the Brecilian forest hosted a great many of the wandering Dalish clans gathered for their Arlathvhen, to trade the secrets of the ancients that the respective clans had uncovered. Of course, in such large congregations, such secrets were easy to misplace…

The Tevene ruins in the heart of the wood, overgrown, dark, disused. The moonless night dropped visibility to nothing. For Selim, elder of clan Valeen, it was the perfect cover. He had felt the eyes of a pursuer hot on the back of his clan for days now. Some secrets were never meant to be shared, even at an Arlathvhen.

A cold wind against the nape of his neck. “So, you finally arrive.”

A raven haired woman stepped out of the shadows, golden eyes gleaming predatorily in the darkness. The sound of hissing echoed through the ancient ruins.

“I know what you came here for, witch. This knowledge will be destroyed by my hand! I cannot trust anyone with, least of all a shemlen. I will see it burnt to ash before I see it in your hands!”

The woman melded back into the shadows. The sound of hissing subsided as Selim rapidly let loose an arrow after her into the shadows. Elven eyes were far more accustomed to the darkness than humans, which is why he couldn’t suppress a gasp when the woman's body burst into serpents, twisting in the air to avoid the arrow, before disappearing in a burst of speed to another cranny of the ruins. 

A strange high pitched noise filled the chamber, throwing off the old hunter’s concentration. A vampire bat erupted from the shadows as the elf’s back was turned, drawing a line of blood from the nape. The seasoned hunter turned, fast as he could, but was unable to match the speed of the predator. He clutched at his nape, growling in pain. 

Hissing filled the air again. A river python lashed out from the dark, nearly managing to put the elf in a crushing coil, before he slipped away. Again it disappeared into the shadows. A shrill howl, and a wolf was upon him from the back. He lifted an arm to intercept the lunge,.and his bow was snapped in twain between snarling jaws.

Selim quickly realised how outmatched he was. His enhanced elven senses were no match for the beasts of the wild. She could smell his blood and sweat, hear his every breath, feel the heat off his body. He would have to leave the ruins. He made for the exit hastily, a fatal mistake.

The clicking of claws against the stone floor. His speed could never match the black panther that bounded out of the shadows. It was upon him in an instant, and snapped his neck like a twig. He did not suffer.

Morrigan reverted to human form and wiped the blood from her lips. Then she took the weathered scrolls from the hunter’s body. Finally, she had what she came for. The secrets of the most corrupt force in the world. But, anything for him. If this was what it took to alleviate his curse, so be it.

A raven flew out of the canopy of the Brecilian woods, parchment clamped tightly within it's talons, northward bound.


	2. Chapter 2

Talyn Mahariel reclined in his makeshift hammock as he watched the moonless night above. Talyn had long since abandoned the Sabrae clan since his induction in the Grey Wardens. He had never been able to abandon the Brecilian forests, however, nor the plight of his fellow Dalish. Any Shemlen that ventured into the territory of his band of like minded hunters would soon learn why wandering in the woods was dangerous. The clans had denounced his cause, said he harboured too much hatred in his heart. Perhaps he did. But it was necessary. Nothing could be won without fighting for it, least of all the elvhen’s place in the world.

He ran two fingers over the blood red cloth covering half his face where mage-fire had ravaged the skin. Indeed, it was difficult to forget the lessons the shem had taught them with such a stark reminder.

A rustling in the bushes. Maravel, hunter of his band approached. “A shemlen woman approaches.”

“We do not harm women. You said she approaches?”

The elf nodded, his face grave. “It’s as if she knows we are here. She shows no discomfort moving through the forest in the darkness. An uncommon trait among her kind.”

“Describe her.”

“She is….beautiful. Her hair is black as the night, her eyes glow pale, her skin porcelain….forgive me, I cannot tell you more, I was far too distracted by her chest.”

Morrigan. A strange lurch in his chest. A human woman that Talyn had respected… Perhaps even admired? He quickly put the thought out of his mind. That was the past. And she was out of his reach, as the incinerated half of his face kept reminding him, throbbing with the pain of the past.

“Send her to me. Alone.” 

Maravel raised a brow at his friend’s tone, but wordlessly slipped away into the shadows. 

And there she was. Unchanged in her wild, beautiful glory. She stole his breath away, like no other, elf or human. Then the burn scar throbbed with anger as it had never before. And the moment was lost.

“Morrigan.”

“Talyn…”

Her voice was frost. Clearly, she had no wish to be here. Of course. She had come with a purpose. This was not the type of woman to just drop by to visit an old friend.

He gestured to a seat beside him, a stump of a chopped tree. She sat, then handed him a parchment.

He read it, his eyes growing wider with each passing sentence. “So this is why you’re here. This is all for him.”

She raised a brow. “Of course.”

“Why are you here, then?”

“We need your help. He will never ask. But I do. This is not the kind of journey one underakes alone. And if he does find a way to cleanse the Taint from his being, ‘twould benefit you as well, no?”

Talyn studied the parchment ever more closely as his gut churned.

“You know how much he and I get along. What makes you think we would help rather than hinder each other.”

She took a look at the cloth draped over his burnt skin, and sighed. “He is a changed man now. You both are. It has been years since the Archdemon was slain at Denerim. One would hope you could look past petty squabbling after all this time.”

Talyn smirked at the rebuke. So much like the Morrigan he knew. Some things never changed. But his heart ached, so close to her, within arms reach, but he would never have her, who had come on behalf of another.

He felt the burn on his face throb angrily once more. Left there by the “Hero of Ferelden”. He who had taken half his face from him. He who had taken his pride as a warrior and shattered it. He who had taken the woman he-

Talyn closed his fist on the parchment and his thoughts. “Very well. I will go.”


	3. Chapter 3

“You getting ready to leave now, Mahariel? It’s the middle of the bloody night.”

Talyn patted one of his fellow hunters that had come to see him off on the shoulder. “It’s something that cannot wait, Lethallan.”

The elf lowered his voice conspiratorial whisper. “You going to get with the shem, Mahariel? Not hard on the eyes, that one.”

Talyn promptly silenced him with an acidic glare, even as his gut churned. Then he quickly bid his comrades farewell, preferring to get the journey underway. Morrigan stood near a glade reflecting the stars. A solitary existence, always. He resisted the urge to reach out, contenting himself with a silent stare, momentarily, before getting her attention with the noise of his usually silent footfalls. She turned to face him, her porcelain skin aglow, even in the darkness. “So.. how do you propose we travel all the way to Denerim?”

“I have arranged for an aravel.”

“Halla driven carriage then? I suppose we can abandon any notions of getting there in a timely fashion.”

At this, Talyn smirked. “You’d be surprised at the kind of pace Halla can make at the hands of a skilled rider. Regardless, we’ll be there soon.

***

It had been a week of a monotonous journey, interrupted occasionally by the odd wild animal attack or foolhardy highwayman, quickly ended by Mahariel’s bow. The conversations with Morrigan had been a little too terse for his liking. But he could see why it had come to that. He sighed. They had been younger, and less wise back then.

So he broached a subject he had never thought to. Felix Amell.

“Are you… are you happy with him?”

At this, Morrigan’s expression softened, her eyes glowing, and it made Talyn wish he had never asked. He was older now. He had believed he was past that, damn it! The jealous fires in the pits of his being burnt hotter than his face on that fateful day, when he had made the nigh fatal mistake of angering the “Hero of Ferelden”.

“More than I ever believed possible.” More than that, she did not say. Talyn had no wish to pursue this thought further. He swallowed and rode ahead. Denerim would soon be here.

***

“Wake up, my King.”

Alistair woke with a grumble to find his queen, Eranya Cousland-Theirin laid next to him under the sheets, hair disheveled, a smile on her face. He groaned. “Go back to sleep, my queen. This is no time for either of us to be up so early.”

“The sun hangs high in the sky already. And monarchs are expected to rise earlier than their subjects.”

“Mmmh. Screw the throne.”

“My, my, my dear king, you are simply insatiable. Is your wife not enough for you anymore.”

Eranya smirked as Alistair turned red up to his ears. “Are you going to get up now, my king?”

Alistair nodded as he groggily got to his feet. “Another day beckons.” He sighed unenthusiastically.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss today.”

Alistair peered at his wife through narrowed eyes momentarily, before it came back. “Ah, right, they’re coming here today, aren’t they?”

She nodded, and Alistair exhaled once more. “I can’t deal with Morrigan as a rule, and now Talyn as well…” It was truly to be an even longer day than usual.


	4. Chapter 4

Talyn approached the front gate of the Royal Palace at Denerim. Although there had been little enough love lost between him and the King and Queen of Ferelden, they had parted amicably enough. But he supposed that was what would happen when you battled back against back against a blighted army together, implicitly trusting the other with your life. But Talyn didn't know if he had any desire to see either of them again.

“Morrigan!” Eranya Cousland-Theirin’s voice carried out with warmth to the woman she considered a sister. “Finally, you return!” She wrapped her hands around the lighter woman, who responded with a shallow hug of her own, after some trepidation, unused to such open displays of affection.

“Talyn.” The queen looked up and nodded at the elf, her tone cordial enough, but her eyes had narrowed, and her tone had acquired a chill. He did not blame her, considering his conduct back in the day. He responded with a stiff nod of his own.

“Morrigan.” The king himself had walked out of the palace into the courtyard now. As far as Alistair was concerned, he had never seen eye to eye with either of them. 

“Felix did not accompany you, then?” He asked.

“Felix has… gone on ahead, in pursuit of his quest to cure the Calling. But I must catch up with him. There is crucial information I must impart and-"

“Calm down, Morrigan.” Eranya placed a hand on the other woman's arm. “You will find him soon enough. Take some time to unwind. There is nothing in the world that can cause his harm, you know this.”

Talyn nearly snorted. Indeed, Felix Amell was not a perfect man. Many people would not even call him a good man. Indeed, a number of them even treated his name as synonymous with terror, a reputation well deserved. But as far as battle went, his prowess was undeniable. In the field of war, he was as close to a perfect being as it was possible to be. The burn on his face throbbed again. He really shouldn't be thinking so much about this. He was likely to develop a ulcer.

Morrigan sighed, then smiled and nodded. “You're right, of course.”

“You should come in. Kieran awaits your return eagerly.” Eranya said.

“Kieran?” Talyn interjected.

Morrigan turned her pale eyes to the elf. “My son.”

“Ah. Of course.” Talyn wasn't sure he wanted to meet the fruit of his most hated Shemlen’s loins.

The palace was well furnished on the inside. The excesses of humans, Talyn surmised. A youth approached, then flew into Morrigan's waiting arms. He could only guess this was Kieran.

Already he could see the similarities. The same dark brown hair, the cut of his jaw, the piercing gaze. Which then turned on him.

“Who is this, mother?”

“A.. colleague of your father's, Kieran. This is Talyn Mahariel.”

The piercing eyes turned to Talyn once more. “Your blood is old. But it carries something more. Like father, but not as heated.”

The elf blinked. This was unexpected, to say the least. “Well, that's… good to know.”

Morrigan looked at him, then ushered away her son. She was clearly very protective of her son.

***

It was early the next morning when Talyn was roused by a servant, another elf, of.course, knocking on his door.

“My Lord, the King summons you below.”

So Morrigan had decided to set out this early. He threw on his shirt and grabbed his pack, and headed downstairs. 

Alistair, Eranya, Morrigan and Kieran were already assembled below. Morrigan was bidding farewell to her son as he walked up to them.

“Do not trouble anyone overmuch, little man. I will return as hastily as possible. Take care of yourself, my son.”

“I will, mother.” The boy sounded mature beyond his years. But Talyn hadn’t been around enough human children to tell if this was usual for his age.

Eranya pulled her friend into a hug. “Find Felix, then bring him back. We’ll be awaiting your return, Morrigan.” 

Alistair merely exchanged terse nods with the both of them. And then they were off.

“Where are we headed anyway?” Talyn asked.

“Northward.” Morrigan replied. “My warden followed his trail there. Our first stop is Nevarra.”


	5. Chapter 5

Silverjack had been born third child to a powerful magister of the Tevinter Imperium. A family of perfectionists, they had made their disdain for the hunchbacked child known in no subtle manner. Yet, he was devoted and loyal to his family.

He remembered, when he was ten, how a slave uprising had rocked his father's household. How his father had gone outside to converse with the hotblooded slaves, demanding their freedom.

Gout after gout of wicked devouring flame incinerated the slaves gathered below. The slaves howled in agony and perished. His father had only one response.

“Those who are mighty shall rule those who are weak. That shall always be our way.”

Silverjack took these words to heart. He idolized his father. His father did not see his son in the same light. The hunchback was a disgrace to his household. So he locked him away in the lower catacombs whenever a magister of another family was to pay a visit. Out of sight, out of mind.

One such occurrence, his father simply locked Silverjack in the catacombs, and it seemed, forgot he was there. Silverjack was confined with a pretty elven lass, a slave girl, her flesh smooth and supple and the colour of pearls. Her eyes gleaming with kindness Silverjack had never seen directed his way before. 

So on the third day of his confinement, the hunchback, driven mad by his starvation, caved the elf’s pretty little head with a loose flagstone, and devoured her flesh.

A week past that incident, the odour from the catacombs must have taken a turn for the rank, for Silverjack’s father finally unlocked the door to see what was going on. Disgusted and enraged at the thing-that-had-been-his-ward’s conduct, he threw him out on the streets. Unwanted, forgotten.

But Silverjack never forgot his father or his twisted philosophy. And so he made his own way into the world to seek his strength.

He lived like a beast within concrete jungles, skulking in shadowy alleyways, naught but the wiry, disease ridden flesh of the beggars and scum of the street that he would kill, to sustain him, and remind him of the one time he had held power over another human’s life. He could never stay in one place for too long, for the locals would soon hunt a cannibal so brazenly operating in their midst.

And so he found himself preying in the alleys of Perendale, a vast distance to have travelled from his home, but could never forget the ecstasy the tasting of the elven slave had given him.

Until in this City of Nevarra, he met God.

He had once been in awe of his father's prowess. But it was a mere candle to the blazing inferno of his God.

If he stayed with God, he would once again, know himself. He would reaffirm his existence. He would be one of the strong.

So he asked, nay, begged, God for power, and God agreed.

But all power was to have a price. But the price of his soul was one Silverjack was willing to pay a hundred times over. For he had finally seen God.

Silverjack’s blood had always held the power of magic, as he was his father's son. But an imperfect being, a hunchback, had no right to wield such power. So he was never taught. And he was ignored when he complained of nightmares, whispers in his head.

But God gave him power. God cleared his mind. God gave him purpose. The sole purpose of serving his will.

Although he would never refer to him by any name, he would still like to know it. So the hunchback had asked God for his name. And God had chuckled and told him. But Silverjack would never call God by his name. He was unworthy.

Felix Amell.


	6. Chapter 6

Madran was not the kind of man to be easily spooked. He was not particularly superstitious either, his time with the Fog Warriors and their habits of keeping ancient legends close to heart notwithstanding. But he had an uneasy feeling about today.

Indeed, most of his former colleagues would call him a traitor. But what was he to do, forsake the Tevene Altus who he owed his life to simply because of the circumstances of his birth? Madran’s honour would not allow him to make an enemy of the man he had come to regard as his dearest friend. Leonard Duronius would have his loyalty to his dying breath.

The ravens had crowed incessantly today. Madran was wont to mistrust carrion birds at the best of times. These creatures were only attracted by impending doom.

Leonard's family was one of an ancient line of magisters. The House Duronius was powerful, and commanded respect. Not many enemies to be had. But the enemies they did have would be all the deadlier. As the newly appointed Commander of the House heir’s personal guard, Madran had lost more than one night’s worth of sleep on the issue.

Of course, like all young, hot blooded noble children, Leonard had a fire in his veins, only to be quenched in the field of battle. Madran did not begrudge him this quality; After all, it was on such a battle that his life had been saved from a Karashok of the Qun by the mage whom he would grow to call his closest friend. But it did have a tendency to make his life more eventful than it necessarily needed to be.

He found the young mage poring over a letter in his study, which was surprising, because Leonard Duronius was loathe to sit still in any one place for any extended period of time. Yet now, not only was he poring over the contents of his letter, he had a wild, nearly manic gleam in his eye. The crowing of the infernal birds grew louder outside. Madran was content to attribute the shiver he felt run down his spine to the chill in the air.

“My friend, what has you so excited in the morning that you sent for me this early? You are not usually one to rise from sleep before the middle of the day.”

Leonard turned to him, teeth bared in a youthful grin. “No time to sleep today, and for a few days yet, Madran! I have momentous developments dancing in the palm of my hand. This… this may secure my seat in the magisterium sooner than- No! No! I’m thinking too small…” Leonard was nearly hopping in his agitated excitement now. “This may change the course of Tevinter history itself!”

Madran blinked. His friend did have a flair for the dramatic, but not usually without good reason. “And exactly what are these developments, my friend, that have you stirred so?”

Leonard seemed to dry up mid rant, blinking. Then he coughed, hesitating. “No, not now, you wouldn't… no one would understand.. No, you're going to have to take my word on this, just- Just be ready to march out when I give the word, alright?” And saying so, the Altus flung the letters into the fireplace, where they blackened and crumpled in on themselves. Madran had rarely known his friend to guard such momentous news so close to his chest before. But before the letters had been utterly reduced to ashes, he had managed to catch a glimpse. On one of the sheets was a rough but faithful illustration of a dragon. But that was no dragon he had ever seen. Not in the flesh anyway. The only time he did see something resembling the creature was in illustrations of the Tevinter Old Gods.

The crowing outside grew ever louder.


	7. Chapter 7

Fire rained out of the blackened skies over Denerim as a God fell from the skies, and it's Blighted Army was routed from Ferelden with it's dying roar. 

Talyn woke, wiping the sweat from his brow. These nightmares weren't related to the Calling, he hoped. 

Morrigan observed him from the corner of her gleaming golden eyes.

“You have been thrashing about in your sleep. Nightmares, I take it?”

“Indeed. I saw… that battle. In Denerim. I still remember..”

Morrigan merely nodded and said nothing more. A lot had been lost in Denerim, but a lot more had been won. The travelling caravan they had hitched a ride with lurched to a halt.

Nevarra. The last place where they had tracked the whereabouts of Felix Amell. Morrigan had a much better idea of where exactly her love’s quest for the cure had taken him, but she was unwilling to divulge much further in him. She had ever guarded her secrets with jealousy.

“I cannot imagine the Keeper of this secret scroll of yours parted with it willingly.” Talyn picked up on another thread of conversation.

“He did not.” She replied. “I had to use more.. forceful means to obtain it.”

Talyn nodded. “That ruthless streak of yours in pursuit of knowledge hasn’t changed.”

“Do I should allow ignorant fear to destroy knowledge that may aid my love in his quest? I think not.” She frostily replied, in a tone that indicated the end of the conversation.

Talyn sighed. At least Felix hadn’t been personally aware of the knowledge on that scroll, and hadn't arrived to retrieve it himself. Whatever Morrigan’s methods had been, he was absolutely sure they were subtle compared to what Felix would employ.

Nevarra had seemed an agreeable enough place. Felix's track however, had run cold, and Morrigan's mood had grown progressively worse. Talyn wondered what exactly she was using to trail him.

“We… share a bond. I can say no more than that. ‘Tis magical in nature, but the trail grows muddled here.” She shook her head. “In a way, ‘tis a good thing… My Warden's magical aura is immense, and not easily camouflaged. This can only mean we are close, and ‘tis his power that suffuses the air around the place, making it hard to track down.” 

“Truly? His power suffuses…” Talyn waved his hand over the sun beaten horizon of the Silent Plains. “-this entire area? I find that hard to believe.”

“What you find hard to believe is none of my concern.” Morrigan snapped back, before checking herself. “I.. apologize. That was unworthy of me.”

Talyn merely sighed. “It's alright. This heat would make anyone cranky.”

The silent plains were the flashpoint for conflict between Tevinter and Nevarra, that had recently shown signs of flaring up again.

But it should have been safe at this point.of time. Which is why the thunderous hoofbeats from the south caught them completely off guard, as the advancing silhouette of the Nevarran cavalry grew ever larger from the south.


End file.
